Remembering September 11, 2001

   Is there anything I could write about September 11, 2001 that would be new? Fresh?  Never written or said before?   I don’t know.  However, I cannot allow the tenth anniversary of this historic and tragic day to pass without offering up some thoughts.  Think of this less as an essay and more as an invitation to dialogue…to share…to remember together.  For I am convinced that we must remember.  It is not only natural but necessary to try to make some kind of sense of these sense-less events. 

   This Sunday there will be a lot of flag waving and patriotism expressed.  I have no problem with that.  But we must do more.  True healing comes to individuals and nations when traumatic realities are faced, lessons are learned and resolve is set.   

   No one wants to go there.  No one wants to confront those memories again.  But the reality is that those images are already forever impressed upon us.  The pain will come.  The memories will come.  This is the great paradox of all grief.   No matter how hard we work to hide from or deny the hurt of our grief, the hurt is still there.   It will be better for us if we move toward the pain, by our own intention, than if it rises up and overwhelms us when we are unprepared for it.

   You can’t just get over the pain.  You can’t go around it. You can’t go under it. You have to go through it – the hurt, the anger, the helplessness; the fear….This is true for the person mourning the death of a spouse…or for a nation mourning the death of thousands. 

   Alan Wolfelt, Ph.D., Director of the Center for Loss and Life Transition, speaks of the importance of “dosing” ourselves.  We choose to set our intention to move toward the pain of our loss when we are strong and able to do so.  We engage the process of remembering and mourning, and we begin the process of letting go.  Then we step back away from the pain again.  In this way we allow ourselves the freedom to grieve in small doses. 

   September 11, 2011, the tenth anniversary of terrorist attacks on our nation, is an opportunity to dose ourselves in this way.  In this week prior to the anniversary I have watched some of the special programming on television, including one very touching show on “The Children of 9-11”.  I have intentionally set aside this time to remember.  In remembering I have felt again the horror of that day.  I have wept.  I believe I have also honored those who lost their lives in New York City, Washington D.C. and Pennsylvania on September 11, 2001.  I have honored those who survived the attacks.  I have grown in compassion and respect for those who have gone on living even though their father, mother, beloved spouse, brother or sister or child died.  I have renewed respect for our national leaders at that time, sharing their horror and barely comprehending the weight of responsibility they carried on our behalf.

   Yes, it is good to remember.  If you are like me, you don’t remember Pearl Harbor.  You have only a vague impression of what it was like when JFK was shot.  But 9-11 is the day that changed our world and our lives forever.  9-11 is the day we learned how vulnerable we really are. It’s also the day that we learned how strong we really are.  If you are a person of faith, like I am, you remember also the promise--    

  

 "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?  As it is written:

   “For your sake we face death all day long;
   we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.”

     No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.  For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,    neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. "  (Romans 8:35-39)

Nothing can separate us from the love of God!    

   I remember 9-11.  I always will.  Yet, in the shadow of this dark day I affirm that Good is more powerful evil. Love overcomes hatred.   Life conquers death.  

   What is your 9-11 memory?  What is your affirmation of life post – 9-11?

Dreams

   Many people experience dreams after the loss of a loved one.  Sometimes these dreams are disturbing in nature.  If the loss was traumatic or visually disturbing, dreams may bring those images and sensations experienced at the time of the trauma back with startling reality.  Other dreams can be comforting, confusing or cause us to wake with a sense of sadness and longing for our loved one.

JOY, like a spring in the desert

   Over this past weekend I had the joyful experience of returning to LeMars, Iowa for a college class reunion.  I use the word "joy" quite intentionally because, while it was a delightful to visit with old friends, there was a sadness associated with this event as well.  I have always felt that joy transcends mere happiness and sustains us, like a spring in the desert, through the sorrow-filled, wilderness seasons of our lives.  Returning to LeMars and to the campus of what once was Westmar College is sad, for Westmar closed a few years after I graduated.  The community has done a lovely job making use of many of the buildings, but many are gone and more are slated for demolition in the near future.  Driving home Sunday afternoon, I felt my senses and memory somewhat overloaded.  In the course of just two days I had walked paths I once walked to go to class and meals.  I had visited at length with former professors.  I had told and listened to countless stories and memories, both sweet and sad.  In my mind I went back to the time when I got a phone call on the pay phone in the dorm telling me my parents were likely going to divorce.  I recalled the football game when all the players had put stars on their helmets in honor of a fellow-player who was battling cancer, which subsequently took his life.  And I traced again the drive through a city park where a dear friend was hit and killed by a motorcycle.   His name was Bill.
   I know Bill cared for me.  He may have even loved me.  I cared for him.  But I was young and not nearly as serious as he seemed to be about our relationship.  He went to the park that night to attend a party-one that had become controversial on our small, church-related campus.  My remembrance is that Bill went to be a witness - in deed, not words - that one could attend a party, hang with friends, have a great time and choose not to drink.  It seemed a cruel injustice when walking home from the party he was hit by a motorcycle and suffered injuries that claimed his life.
   With all those memories stirred up, it is not surprising to me that I have been dreaming that last few nights.  While the dreams do leave me with a sad feeling when I awake, I try always to receive my dreams as gifts.  For example, I dreamed I took a walk with Bill.  I don't remember what we talked about.  But I remember the feelings of warmth and companionship we shared.  And, I know my husband was waiting for me at the end of our walk.  So, it is like I had a visit from Bill, a chance to catch up with him, much like I caught up with my other college friends over the weekend.  And I am grateful for this dream.
   If you are dreaming dreams about your loved one, try to accept them as a gift.  Ask yourself, what part of the dream stands out most in my mind?  What was I feeling in the dream?  Was I sad or scared?  Or did those feelings come upon waking?  Is there something I can learn from this dream?  Is there a memory here for me to recall and cherish?  Is there wisdom in my dreaming, something God or my loved one would like me to learn or know? 
   You may wish to keep a notebook or journal beside your bed where you can journal your dreams.  This can be helpful as many dreams slip away quickly upon waking.  It will also give you an opportunity to see if there is a common theme that recurs in your dreams.  A common theme in my dreams is going into or moving through various parts of a house.  In Jungian Psychology and dream symbolism a house may represent the inner self or the soul.  Paying attention to what rooms or levels of the house I am in can bring me new insights about soul work I am doing or, more likely, need to be attending too.
   If you are suffering from nightmares, night terrors or having flashbacks, you have likely experienced a traumatic loss.  Don't try to get through this alone.  You need the help and support of a professional trained in trauma intervention.  Your dreams are trying to help you by bringing these disturbing memories up where they can be faced and dealt with.  No one wants to have to face them, but this is the truest path to healing.  If you need assistance in locating a professional with the training and expertise to help you with your traumatic loss, please contact me or contact The National Institute for Trauma and Loss in Children at www.starrtraining.org/tlc.    This organization maintains a database of trained and certified professionals in many fields who work with both traumatized children and adults.
   Until next time, I wish you blessings and meaningful dreams.
                                                                     Robyn

Grief and The Workplace

Dear Friends,

I have a growing concern about how grieving and mourning people are treated in the workplace. Our society becomes more and more dismissive of the role of ritual in grief (note the latest trend of “drive-through” funeral visitations on the east and west coasts) and more confused about the importance of mourning well our losses so we can move forward to live well.  These attitudes are naturally reflected in the workplace. 

I would very much like to hear your experiences related to this subject.  I may write an article for our Hope Newsletter based on your responses.  However, I will word things in such a way that no single individual's confidentiality is jeopardized.  I would be very appreciative of your responses.  Please email them to me at the address below or send them by snail mail, whichever suits you best.

The kinds of things I am most curious about are—

What type of  loss did you experience? 

Did you feel supported in your workplace following your loss?  For how long?

How did co-workers and employers respond to your loss– both positive and negative examples, please.

What helped you the most?

What hurt you the most?

What do you wish you could have said to the people you work with?

Did your co-workers seem to understand the depth of your grief and how long it would take for you to find healing?

Perhaps you are a helping professional and someone others look to for support.  How did this impact your ability to freely mourn your loss?

What else would you like to share? 

I don’t know exactly what this newsletter feature will look like.  Much will depend upon the responses I get.  I can imagine that some specific responses may be shared, but again I assure you the source of those responses will be kept confidential.  Your identity will be protected.  

Thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts with me.  I am confident I can put something together that will prove helpful to businesses and employers.

Sincerely,

Robyn J. Plocher

deaconrumc@yahoomail.com

or

509 4^th Street

Grundy Center, IA   50638

Riding the Wave of Grief at Father's Day

     They say that grief comes at us in waves, usually when we least expect it.  I have found this to be true.  Earlier this year my uncle, dad's only brother, died.  I was not particularly close to this uncle. However, one day driving to work I was bowled over by one of those waves of grief.  It was as if another chapter in my dad's life had irrevocably closed.  The living members of his family of origin are now just my 101 year old grandmother and my aunt.
     I had the same experience a week ago.  I was attending our church's Annual Conference.  This is a gathering of over 1000 people from across our state to do the work of the church in a very specific place and time.  This year I was asked to have a leadership role in the Memorial Service. The service honors the memory of clergy and clergy spouses who have died in the past year.  We also honor the churches that have decided to close.  Sadly, this year six congregations made that difficult decision.  One of them  is Calvary United Methodist in Blairstown, Iowa.  My dad served that church when I was just a pre-school aged child.
     I do have quite a number of memories of that home and church.  I remember the big water tower that seemed like it was right behind our house and the siren that would blow to call the volunteer firemen to respond to an emergency.  I remember dropping my pretzel - a favorite teething toy - down the laundry chute that ran from the second floor to the basement of the house.  I remember the cowboy boots I was wearing the day I fell down the church steps -probably saving me from a badly twisted ankle or worse. I remember that Dad drove a school bus and sometimes I got to go to the Bus Barn with him -something that always made me feel special.    I remember that dad's office was in the house.  I remember a glow of blue light and the smell of ink on the days he would cut stencils and print the church bulletins.
     The parsonage and church in Blairstown are part of my life story.  They are also part of my dad's story and our family story.  I am very sad about the church closing, but I have had a hard time articulating why it affected me so much the day of the Memorial Service.  I felt weepy, tearful and a bit irritable most of the day.  I believe now I was swimming against a wave of grief.
      When I was little I adored my daddy, as most little girls do.  As sometimes happens, time  took a toll on our relationship which became strained in adulthood.  The unfinished business between us was not all resolved prior to his death. The closing of the church was, for me, like "another nail in his coffin"-a reminder that the past and it's cares irrevocably slip away.  A reminder that life is a series of "hello"s and "good-bye"s, and the "good-bye"s cause us to feel the pain of grief.
     As Father's Day approaches I will think of my dad with a mix of joy and tears.  I will honor my  husband for his special way of being "dad" and "papa" to our children and grandson.  I am also choosing to remember those who have been like fathers and brothers to me:  Dwight Vogel, "Cousin" Jim Grupp, Jim Russel., Jeff Dadisman, Orrin Plocher,  Richard Plocher and  Jon Starek.    These are the men in my life I honor for their enduring support, love and integrity. 
     If you feel a wave of grief coming at you this Father's Day, I encourage you to get out your surfboard and ride the wave wherever it takes you.   Feel your feelings.  Cry if you need to.  However, when the wave loses it's power and fades away, take some time to practice an attitude of gratitude.  Let those special guys still in your life know just how much they really mean to you. 

Blessings on the Journey,

Robyn

The author with her children (background) and her grandson (foreground)

                                                                                       

A Fresh Look at the Good Shepherd

Because we don't live in the countryside outside Jerusalem 2000 years ago we aren't always able to understand and appreciate the parables that Jesus told.  Psalm 23 and John 10 both talk about how the Lord is like a Good Shepherd who risks sacrificing everything for his sheep.  I recently wrote the story below and shared it as narrator for the morning message in worship.  The pastor portrayed the Good Shepherd,  a lay member of the church portrayed the young and foolish shepherd. The children in attendance portrayed the sheep.  A teen portrayed the wolf.    In acting out the story, the entire congregation was enabled to visualize and appreciate in a new way what Jesus really meant when he talked about the shepherd laying down his life for his sheep and so faithfully caring for them.  

Once there was a Good Shepherd who faithfully cared for his flock of sheep.

By day the shepherd led his sheep to green pastures and streams of water so that they might be well nourished and grow up healthy and strong.

As evening fell the shepherd took his flock to a sheep pen where they could take their rest in peace, unmolested by wild animals or thieves.  Then the shepherd himself lay down to guard the entrance to the sheep pen.

One night the sheep became restless and agitated.  A wolf had caught their scent and was lurking and skulking about the sheep pen looking for a way in, but the wolf could not get over or through the wall.  Frustrated and hungry, the wolf was not about to give up.  He found his way to the sheep gate where the shepherd was asleep on the ground.  The wolf sneaked toward the sheep thinking he had found his way into the pen.  As the wolf drew near the shepherd –who hadn’t been sleeping at all- suddenly sat up. Taking aim with his sling shot he fired at the wolf.  He intended to stun the wolf, but this wolf was very hungry.  After being shot with the sling shot he was just plain mad.  The wolf leapt at the shepherd.  When the struggle was over both the wolf and the shepherd were wounded and bloodied, but the wolf ran away, abandoning his hoped for meal.

The shepherd knew if he didn’t move his flock the wolf would only return again and again.  So he called to his flock and led them out to a new pasture and sheep pen several days travel away.  Along the way he met another shepherd by the name of Simon.  Simon was not a bad shepherd. He cared for his sheep.  But he was young and not especially wise.  As the sheep were settled in the pen for the night and the two shepherds sat down together under the stars, Simon told his story to the Good Shepherd.                                                                       

Every Morning is Easter Morning!

I don’t remember her name, but I do remember her testimony.  She was an elderly member of our church when I was a young teenager.  She had been diagnosed with cancer and told she had very little time to live.  That had been years before.  She had outlived every doctor’s prognosis.  In a day when cancer might have been referred to in quiet whispers and somehow associated with shame and embarrassment, she found the grace and courage to openly share her story.   When people went to call on her because she was homebound and ill, the caller always came away with their faith renewed.  They went to make her feel better.  They came away ministered to and feeling better themselves.

One year late in Lent this woman recorded a message to be shared at our church’s United Methodist Women’s monthly meeting. It so happened that my mom had the tape at home. She was listening to it in her bedroom one day, and that was how I came to hear the woman share her testimony in her own words. 

“It will soon be Easter,” she said.  “But for me, every morning is Easter morning.  Every day is a reminder of God’s grace and love.  Every day is a resurrection day, a new day of life and an opportunity to serve Him.” 

It seemed only fitting that a few days later, early on Easter Sunday morning, this remarkable saint left this life and went home to be with her Lord. 

Honestly, I suppose I might not have remembered her testimony so clearly if it were not for a song I learned several years later that called her to mind.  The lyrics are as follows:

Ev'ry morning is Easter morning from now on! 
Ev'ry day's resurrection day, the past is over and gone! 

Good-bye guilt, good-bye fear, good riddance! Hello, Lord, Hello, sun! 
I am one of the Easter People! My new life has begun! 

Ev'ry morning is Easter morning from now on! 
Ev'ry day's resurrection day, the past is over and gone! 

Daily news is so bad it seems the Good News seldom gets heard. 
Get it straight from the Easter People! God's in charge spread the word! 

Ev'ry morning is Easter morning from now on! 
Ev'ry day's resurrection day, the past is over and gone! 

Yesterday I was bored and lonely; But today look and see! 
I belong to the Easter People! Life's exciting to me! 
Ev'ry morning is Easter morning from now on! 
Ev'ry day's resurrection day, the past is over and gone! 
Ev'ry morning is Easter morning, 
Ev'ry morning is Easter morning, 
Ev'ry morning is Easter morning, 
From now on! 
 

(Words & Tune:  Richard K. Avery and Donald S. Marsh, in the Avery and Marsh Songbook, ©1967, Hope Publishing Co.)

Pain, despair and injustice are all around us.  This cannot be denied.  Yet as Christians we know that the greatest injustice ever done was the murder of God’s son on a cross at Calvary.  Whatever atonement theory one may embrace, it seems quite clear that it was never God’s intention to allow sin, darkness and injustice to have the final word.  Even when humanity did its utmost worst, God did His utmost best.  When humanity’s sin sent Christ to the cross, God’s grace overcame the power of death.  Christ rose from the tomb three days after his physical death. He walked, talked, prayed and broke bread with those he had known as his friends.  For those who place their trust in Him this makes all the difference.

The things that hold us in bondage – things like lack of forgiveness, abuse, addiction, disease and disability, fear and anxiety, grief and mourning – may be a very real burden to us.  But we are not without hope.  Christ is our joy.  The empty tomb is our hope.  An instrument of cruelty and execution (the cross) has become our victory sign.  Christ is risen!  Alleluia!  Light has conquered the darkness!  Love is stronger than hate!  Death is vanquished.  Joy in this life and eternity with God are our destiny. 

May you have a blessed Easter Season!

Robyn

 

Good Friday Reflections on Injustice

Good Friday, 2011

Someone once told me that I have never “accepted” the basic injustice of life.  That statement made me very upset and even angry.  Through personal experience or by companioning others on their grief journeys I have known a great deal of the injustice that seems to be inherent in life this side of eternity.

I have known, at a very young age, the injustice of war that leaves innocent children hungry, homeless and orphaned.  (I have three siblings adopted from Korea,  and my mother travelled to Korea and Vietnam several times during my childhood working to bring aid and assistance to the orphans in those war torn countries.)

I know the injustice of old age and illness – cancer and COPD, for example, that leaves good Christian men and women lying in their beds fighting with everyone ounce of strength in their bodies for just one more breath.

I know the injustice of pain heaped upon an already broken heart when a mother learns her children are disabled or have serious medical problems.

I know the  injustice of mental illness that strips away not only joy and peace, but at its worst strips away even anger and grief - not just feeling bad or sad -  but feeling nothing, a terrible, awful aloneness in the deepest, darkest of pits.

I know injustice and I know it rather well.  It angers me!